


Fight Fire With Fire

by AxesCutHeroesToRats



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - The Battle of the Blackwater, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Minor Character Death, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-03-09 20:26:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18924433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AxesCutHeroesToRats/pseuds/AxesCutHeroesToRats
Summary: Yet another Blackwater AU, except in this one, the Hound is anything but afraid of the flames.The story starts pre-Blackwater, on the journey to King's Landing, and covers some of the SanSan interactions before it. I'll add more tags as more characters appear. Book-canon, not show.Also...I need a better title.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This is my first fanfic, so feel free to rip it up. All rights belong to George R. R. Martin and all that jazz. This story is just a sort of a "what if?" idea, I ain't trying to "fix" or "improve" the characters; I was just kinda bummed about his fate in the show, and so I decided to write this for catharsis, though I've had this idea for a while. More chapters coming at some point. Please point out any grammar/spelling problems you notice. Thanks fer readin'!

“And you’re only a butcher’s boy, and no knight.”

“Enough of this horseshit!” The Hound’s great black courser came charging into the clearing.

“Dog! What are you doing here?” Joffrey lowered his sword from Mycah’s cheek. “I told you to stay behind!”

“Your mother didn’t take kindly to the idea of you traipsing through the woods, alone with the little Lady Stark.” The Hound dismounted and glared down at the prince. “Sheath your sword, Joffrey.”

“This filthy butcher’s boy was attacking my betrothed’s sister, Dog! I needed to defend her!” Joffrey gestured at Mycah with the blade as the Hound strode closer. 

“The only sword bared here is yours, Joff. Put it away,” Sandor Clegane had now forced himself between the Prince and the butcher’s boy. “Put it away before I take it away, and tell your father how you drew live steel on children at play.” 

The prince flushed and scowled, but he did as he was told just the same. As soon as the prince’s sword was back in its scabbard, the Hound turned to Mycah and growled. “I won’t be around to save your hide the next time you decide to play at knights with highborn girls, boy, and I’d wager no one else will either.”

“He’s my friend,” Arya said, “and I can play with him as I please.”

The Hound only grinned cruelly at her, before telling them all that they were heading back. Prince Joffrey remounted his horse, while Arya clambered up behind Sansa. The butcher’s boy seemed terrified to have to ride with the Hound. Nymeria stalked ahead of them, a grey shadow skulking through the trees.

“He’s vile, Sansa. How can you marry him?” Arya whispered sourly.

“Please, Arya, enough now,” Sansa whispered back. She did not want things to be ruined any further. He was drunk, he was only trying to protect Arya; her mind raced to defend her beloved as they rode though the woods. Yet even now, after her tears had dried and Arya had calmed, she could see the glint of spite and malice in Prince Joffrey’s eyes, levelled at the butcher’s boy riding in front of them. She offered a silent prayer to the Seven as thanks for Sandor Clegane’s presence. The menacing sworn shield’s timely arrival had surely averted disaster.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you noticed in the last chapter, I took a line from the books and changed what happened afterwards. This chapter is that on steroids and crack. A lot of the dialogue and descriptions will echo the books, as I didn't want to change too much about it, but there are some important changes made to the work. Some parts, such as the description of Sandor's scars, are quite literally a copy of what appears in the books, with some very minor tweaks to account for the difference in Sandor's character and the events of his life. I have marked where these begin and end with some weird asterisk things, as they are essentially a copy paste. The things outside of that, while a lot of words and phrases remain the same, have pretty important differences and additions that are important for establishing the backstory of Pyro!Sandor.
> 
> Once again, feel free to point out errors in spelling/grammar/other shit.

Sandor Clegane snarled at her. “Spare me your empty courtesies, girl...and your ser’s. I am no knight. I spit on them and their vows. My brother was a knight. Did you hear what happened to him?”

 

“No,” Sansa whispered, trembling.

 

“He died.” A vicious grin split the Hound’s face. “He burned.”

 

“I am sorry for your loss, my lord.” She felt a pang of sympathy for him. “You must miss him terribly.”

 

Sandor Clegane stopped suddenly in the middle of the dark and empty field. She had no choice but to stop beside him and meet his gaze. “Some septa trained you well. You’re like one of those birds from the Summer Isles, aren’t you? A pretty little talking bird, repeating all the pretty little words they taught you to sing.”

 

“That’s unkind.” Sansa could feel her heart fluttering in her chest. “You’re frightening me. I want to go now.”

 

“ _Unkind,_ ” the Hound snorted. “You think me to be kind, girl? You saw that boy today, his second joust. Fool boy, he had no business riding in this company. No money, no squire, no one to help him with his armor. That gorget wasn’t fastened proper. You think that was a mistake? You think mayhaps my lance rode up by chance? _You think my brother’s death was happen-stance_? Pretty little talking girl, if you believe that, you’re empty-headed as a bird for true. Look at me. _Look at me!_ ” Sandor Clegane put a huge hand under her chin and forced her face up. He squatted in front of her, and moved the torch close. “There’s a pretty for you. Take a good long stare. You know you want to. I’ve watched you turning away all the way down the kingsroad. Piss on that. Take your look.”

********

His fingers held her jaw as hard as an iron trap. His eyes watched hers. Drunken eyes, sullen with anger. She had to look.

 

The right side of his face was gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and a grey eye beneath a heavy brow. His nose was large and hooked, his hair thin, dark. He wore it long and brushed it sideways, because no hair grew on the _other_ side of that face.

 

The left side of his face was a ruin. His ear had been burned away; there was nothing left but a hole. His eye was still good, but all around it was a twisted mass of scar, slick black flesh hard as leather, pocked with craters and fissured by deep cracks that gleamed red and wet when he moved. Down by his jaw, you could see a hint of bone where the flesh had been seared away.

********

Sansa began to cry. He released her and turned his gaze onto the torch. “No pretty words for that, girl? No more courtesies for me?” When there was no answer, he continued. “They all talk. They all have their stories. A battle, a siege, a drunken mishap. One fool asked me if it was dragonsbreath.” He rasped out a laugh, a hollow and bitter thing. “But I’ll tell you the truth, girl...little bird that you are, with your courtesies and your ser’s and your flaming hair,” his eyes danced between the blue of her own and the amber flames of the torch. He was close enough for her to smell the sour red on his breath.

********

“I was younger than you, six, maybe seven. A woodcarver set up shop in the village under my father’s keep, and to buy favor he sent us gifts. The old man made some marvelous toys. I don’t remember what I got, but it was Gregor’s gift I wanted. A wooden knight, all painted up, every joint pegged separate and fixed with strings, so you could make him fight. Gregor was five years older than me, the toy was nothing to him, he was already a squire, near six foot tall and muscled like an ox. So I took his knight, but there was no joy to it, I tell you. I was scared all the while, and true enough, he found me. There was a brazier in the room. Gregor never said a word, just picked me up under his arm and shoved the side of my face down in the burning coals and held me there while I screamed and screamed. He was always known for his strength. Even then, it took three grown men to drag him off me. The septons preach about the seven hells. What do they know? Only a man who’s been burned knows what hell is truly like.

 

My father told everyone my bedding had caught fire, and our maester gave me ointments. Ointments! Gregor got his ointments too. Four years later, they anointed him with the seven oils and he recited his knightly vows and Rhaegar Targaryen tapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘Arise, Ser Gregor.’”

********

He laughed once more, mirthless and angry. “I killed him during Greyjoy’s Rebellion, little bird,” his eyes left the flames to stare into hers. “He had his own tent, lord and knight that he was. It was easy enough to get inside while he was drowning himself in milk of the poppy. It was harder to kill him, big fucker that he was...he fought hard, but not hard enough. It was _finally_ him afraid of me...afraid of the little pup _he_ had burned, afraid for _his_ life, afraid that _he_ was the one that wasn’t strong enough. I cut him down and watched him bleed, but it was the fire that killed him, I made sure of that. He couldn’t scream as loud as I did, not with breeches stuffed into his mouth, but he cried near as much as my sister did. I told everyone that the Ironborn must have attacked his tent, and no one was brave enough to ask twice.”

 

The rasping voice trailed off. He squatted silent before her, a hulking beast glowing in the firelight, staring at the flames with hard, grey eyes. Sansa could hear his ragged breathing, she could see the suffering wrought into his face, the pain coiled with the rage in his pupils. She was sad for him, she realised. Somehow, the fear had gone.

 

The silence went on and on, so long that she began to grow afraid once more, but she was afraid for him now, not for herself. She found his massive shoulder with her hand. “He was no true knight,” she whispered to him.

 

The Hound looked at her then. “He was a monster, little bird. As am I.”

 

“No, he...it wasn’t...you are not your brother,” she murmured. _Kinslaying is a terrible deed,_ she thought, _but how could anyone see such a man as their kin?_

_********_

The rest of the way into the city, Sandor Clegane said not a word. He led her to where the carts were waiting, told a driver to take them back to Red Keep, and climbed in after her. They rode in silence through the King’s Gate and up torchlit city streets. He opened the postern door and led her into the castle, his burned face twitching and his gaze brooding, and he was one step behind her as they climbed the tower stairs. He took her safe all the way to the corridor outside her bedchamber.

********

“Thank you, my lord,” Sansa said meekly.

 

The Hound caught her by the arm and glared down at her. “The things I told you tonight,” he grated out, his voice rougher than usual. “If you ever tell Joffrey...your sister, your father...any of them...”

 

“I won’t,” Sansa whispered. “I promise.”

 

It was not enough. “If you ever tell _anyone,”_ he finished. “I’ll kill you.”

 

As she retreated into the welcoming safety of her bedchamber, Sandor Clegane growled out, “I hope you have enough sense to avoid death, little bird.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, in this story, it's Sandor that kills Ser Hugh. I think it makes sense that he'd be the one to do it, especially with Gregor out of the picture. 
> 
> Also, while I don't plan on writing a chapter about it, the finalists for the Tourney would most likely be Balon Swann instead of Gregor, Loras, Sandor and Jaime. We know the Hound beats Jaime, and I think Loras would beat Swann, but could Sandor beat Loras? Like I said, I don't plan on writing a chapter about it, since there is literally only one line of Sansan and not too much changes, but it shall come up later on in the story. Lemme know what you think should happen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really fucking short, but there will be more tomorrow, and Lady will do something tomorrow too. 
> 
> Big time jump. Ned is dead, and she just met Dontos in the godswood. This is the serpentine conversation.  
> There were some interactions before this and after this, but I am not going to address them all, as I don't think anything needs to be changed; he is gentle enough with her and she isn't too scared of him. For example, they meet Boros and talk immediately after this about the Clegane family history, he calls her a liar again, calls her pretty, advises her, while she asks him a question, offers a song and learns about him. Not much to add imo.

“It’s a long roll down the serpentine, little bird. Want to kill us both?” His laughter was rough as saw on stone. “Maybe you do.”

 

 _The Hound._ “No, my lord, pardons, I’d never.” Sansa averted her eyes from his piercing gaze. “Please, you’re hurting me.” His grip gentled, but he did not release her.

 

“And what’s the little bird doing flying down the serpentine in the black of night?” When she did not answer, he pulled her face up to meet his. “Answer me, girl.”

 

“The g-g-godswood, my lord,” she struggled to control her stutter. “I...I was playing with Lady. She gets lonely, and upset...and I was praying, for my father, and...for the king...his safety.”

 

He huffed out a laugh,“I am not nearly drunk enough to believe _that_ , little bird.” He released her then, his hand returning to his sword-belt, his wine-glazed eyes boring into her own. “You look almost a woman grown, little bird...face, teats, and you’re taller too, near as tall as the King...ah, but you’re still a sweet little bird, aren’t you? Singing all the songs they taught you...won’t you sing me a song, little bird? Go on. Sing for me. Some song about knights and their fair maids. You like knights, don’t you?”

 

He was mocking her again, she knew it. “True knights, my lord.”

 

“ _True_ knights,” he spat. “And I’m no lord, girl, no more than I am a knight. Do I have to beat that into you?” Clegane took a long draught from his wineskin. “ _Gods_ ,” he swore, “Mayhap I drink too much. Do you like wine, little bird? _True_ wine? Sour red, dark as blood.” He offered her the wineskin, but she meekly shook her head. “A drunkard dog, damn me. Come now, little bird, back to your cage. I’ll take you there, keep you safe for the king.” The Hound gave her a push, oddly gentle, and followed her down the steps. He stiffly offered her his massive arm once they reached the bottom. Such courtesies seemed so strange when they came from Sandor Clegane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it too many "little bird"s?
> 
> Also, I will try to explain more about the Dontos meeting tomorrow, as in, how it was different with Lady there.
> 
> As always, critique away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Floof.
> 
> They meet in the godswood, and we learn some more 'bout how Lady is doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just raw floof. Idk if you guys expected angst, but I overall this fic will be happy, albeit violent.

“Forgive me, I did not know you would be here.” Sansa’s eyes darted between Clegane and Lady, who had frozen in the process of lolling at his feet, a curiously canine expression paralysing their features as they stared at her.

 

“Someone must needs train her, little bird,”Clegane’s eyes hardened again. “The kennelmaster is too damned craven to go near a direwolf. But this one’s more pup than anything else, aren’t you?” He softly nudged Lady’s belly with a boot, prompting her to resume rolling around, mouth open in blissful glee.

 

Lady abruptly raised herself up and bounded up to her, tail wagging furiously. Sansa knelt down to cuddle her. It was odd, having the Hound watch her play with Lady. These moments stolen with her wolf in the godswood reminded her of home, of better times, of what it felt like to be loved and cherished and happy. Sansa wouldn’t bear it if anything were to happen to her cherished wolf, and the Queen had made it clear that Lady would have to keep to the godswood to stay alive. Sansa brought small meals with her every day, though she knew Lady hunted during the night. _As long as she stays in here, she will live._

 

“Do you feed her yourself, girl?” Clegane had moved closer, and had squatted down, though he still loomed over both girl and wolf. As queer as his presence seemed, it surprised her that it was not unwelcome.

 

“Yes, but not much,” Sansa retrieved a leg of lamb from her basket, which Lady set upon greedily, promptly ignoring the humans around her. “She hunts, too.” Clegane remained silent.

 

Sansa felt a rush of panic. “I only meant that I believe she does...she must...she is a wolf after all. She isn’t getting any thinner either, my lord.” _He must believe me, or they’ll kill her, I know they will._

 

Sandor Clegane gave her a long look. “I didn’t disagree, little bird. She’s a wolf at heart, no matter how soft she seems to be.” He eyed the direwolf softly. His eyes were beautiful like that, without the hate and anger coiled deep within them. “I’ve been teaching her more commands. She understood how to sit and lay down and heel, whoever trained her before did that much right. She needs know other things though. How to kill, how to maim, how to follow orders." The good side of his face flashed her a half-smile. "She’s a smart beast, little bird...learns fast.” 

 

She returned his smile,“Not stupid like her mistress, then?” She hadn’t meant to say that. It had simply slipped out, truly. Yet, she did not regret it, especially when he laughed. It was a still a rough, guttural thing that made her flinch, but at least this time it lacked his usual rancour.

 

“She’s more like her mistress than most would believe, little bird.” She sought his eyes, trying to discern any mockery in his gaze, but he would not meet hers. He was staring intently at Lady, still devouring her meal.

 

“I was responsible for teaching her how to behave. At least, I was back in Winterfell. It was not very bothersome, Lady always understood me easily, and she was always the best behaved out of all our wolves.” She found herself wanting him to praise her for it, though in a sense he already had. _Still, it would be courteous to acknowledge it again_ , but Sandor Clegane continued to look at Lady, and she supposed his silence was better than his contempt.

 

When Lady finished her food, she loped over to lay between them, contented and at ease. Sansa was surprised once again, when Clegane moved to pet her haunches as she moved towards Lady’s head. His rough, aggressive rubbing of Lady’s back, belly and sides was met with joyous panting and satisfied whines, while she opted to softly stroke her hands along the direwolf’s head and neck.

 

Lady was clearly overjoyed at the attention she was receiving; her eyes shone with delight up at Sansa, who couldn’t help but giggle at the situation. It occurred to her that Lady was far more at ease with Sandor Clegane than she had been around Ser Dontos. She recalled how Lady had stood in front of her, facing the man, her fur bristling and her teeth bared, though she had neither growled nor tried to attack. She had not let the man approach Sansa, and he had seemed more than glad to keep his distance from the wolf. Around most others, Lady stood tall and proud, elegant, _as a true lady should be_. Sansa had not forgotten how Lady had growled at Clegane when he first spoke to her, but it appeared as if Lady herself had. The once dignified direwolf was squirming into his touch, thoroughly enjoying his rough attentions.

 

“She likes you,” Sansa smiled at him. He looked up at her, and she was struck again by how beautiful they were once the rage had left them. She wished she could see those eyes more often, instead of the vicious glare he usually had. “You could visit her more often, if you wish. I would not be opposed to your company.”

 

“I visit her too often as it is, girl. _Some_ of us have duties to perform.” He slowed the pace of his scratching and petting, as Sansa looked away from him. “I suppose...the King wouldn’t want his betrothed alone in the godswood with a wolf...and she could use more training, the lazy bum. Mayhaps I shall find the time, little bird, and mayhap I shall get a song for my troubles too.”

 

His grin was mocking, but she sensed no malice in it. _Neither does Lady_ , so she offered him another smile. “Gladly, my lord.”

 

“Not a lord,” he muttered, but seemed rather distracted by Lady’s overactive tail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Need to rewrite the riot and the beating, and then onto the eve of the battle and the UnKiss. 
> 
> Lemme know what you guys think, am I missing something? This isn't going to be a terribly long fic, I plan maybe 5/6 chapters after that, with an epilogue.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several small moments leading up to the Battle of Blackwater, all of which are probably too small for their own chapter alone. The lines in between paragraphs are to show a difference in time and setting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of italicized words in this, both to show character's thoughts (in this case, Sansa's), and to emphasize words. GRRM does this too, but not this fucking much. Hope it isn't too confusing.

“Enough,” she heard the Hound rasp. “The girl is the only thing stopping the Starks from taking Ser Jaime’s head.”

 

“No, it isn’t enough, Dog,” the king replied. “Boros, make her naked.”

 

The Hound stepped forward, a wall of solid steel and gnashing teeth between her and Ser Boros. “The court has no right to see your betrothed’s teats, your Grace, and that’s all any man here will remember today.”

 

Ser Dontos took the chance to burst into song. _The Hound and the Maiden Fair_ , he cried. No one laughed.

 

“ _What is the meaning of this?”_

______________________

 

Sansa moved as if in a dream. She wondered if Joffrey would have listened to the Hound, or if she would have been stripped and beaten bloody if not for the Imp. “The Dog has more sense than the lot of you,” he had said, aiming his sharp words at the king and his court. He had ordered his men to take her away, but the Hound had stepped forward once more, declaring that the Imp’s sellswords shouldn’t be trusted to “wipe shit off their arses, let alone guard the King’s betrothed”. She’s seen the large wildling’s face rankle at the insult, but even the mountain clans feared the Hound.

 

“Girl,” his rasp was soft. “You’re limping.”

 

“I apologise, I-”

 

Her words cut off into a gasp as he scooped her up, her arms intuitively wrapping around his thick neck. She liked it when he handled her so gently. The thought entered her mind unbidden: Clegane petting her and scratching her roughly, as he did Lady. She couldn’t help but laugh lowly.

 

“Something funny, little bird?”

 

“No, forgive me. Thank you for carrying me,” she spoke quietly, she did not want to bother him by being too loud so near his ear.

 

“You’re as light as a little bird for true, girl.” He grinned down at her.

 

He carried her such that she only saw the good side of his face. As they lapsed into silence, she found herself imagining that she was his lady, and he was her knight, carrying her off in his arms. _No_ , that wasn’t right. He was no knight, and she would not want him to be one. _Besides, it’s Ser Dontos that promised to save me,_ she tried to remember who her true rescuer was. Yet, she knew he had done naught for her thus far, that it had been the Imp and the Hound who had protected her honor, while poor Ser Dontos had been nothing more than a failure of a distraction. The Imp was a Lannister, and all he did, he did for his brother, not for any love he bore for her; she could not find it in her heart to be thankful to him. The Hound had no real care for his liege lords, he’d told her as much. _Well, he’d told Lady._ He stayed on and fought for them for loyalty alone. For all his vicious words and cruel eyes and fiery temper, Sandor Clegane had never harmed her. He was terrifying, with his scars and his sneer and his size, but as she nestled further into his arms, she found herself wishing that it was him that would take her away from King’s Landing. _If I had a saviour as fierce as him, mayhaps I would be home by now._ She allowed herself to dream that he might save her, that he might take up arms for her brother instead of Joffrey. She also knew he would not. Sandor Clegane was nothing if not loyal. Still, she was thankful for him, his honesty and his protection, minor as it may be.

 

“Thank you, S-Sandor,” she blushed, it was not proper to use a man’s given name so, but she owed him this much, at least; to say his name and not treat him as an animal.

 

He turned to look at her, his eyes narrowing into a suspicious glare. “It’s Clegane, little bird. You don’t know me near well enough to call me _that._ ” But she did. She knew she did.

______________________

 

It was the first time she’d seen him since he’d saved her from the mob. She remembered wetness of blood on her face, the crushing grip on her wrists and the stench of garlic from the man grasping her. She remembered the Hound’s snarling laugh, how he’d cut down the crowd around her, sending the commonfolk fleeing in terror. The few brave enough to face him had met a grisly end. She had clutched tightly to him as he rode back to the Red Keep, and had been too frightened to thank him at the time.

 

He was staring up at her, waiting for her to speak, his hand idly scratching Lady’s neck as he sprawled next to a tree. “Thank you. For saving me...you were so brave.”

 

He looked away, his gaze returning to Lady's prone form. “A dog doesn’t need courage to scare off rats, little bird. They had me thirty to one, and not a man of them dared face me.” He looked back at her and nodded at the tree next to him. “Have a seat, girl. Your wolf is too damned lazy to get up to greet you.”

 

She obeyed him, folding herself down to perch on a large root. “Did you find your horse? Is he well?” He had left to search for it after bringing her back to the Keep, and to deal with the flames spreading through Flea Bottom.

 

“Stranger? He’s alive and kicking.” He huffed out a laugh. “And what of your cut, little bird?”

 

“It has healed.”

 

They fell silent for a while. Lady loped off into the woods, leaving them to the quiet of the godswood. Sansa regretted not bringing her some food. Lady never left her alone with Dontos, always sitting gracefully at her side, staring the fool down. The direwolf was never at ease around the disgraced knight, but around Sandor Clegane, she acted the puppy so that he may play with her. Sansa found herself wondering once again if her faith was placed in the right man and whether Lady’s love for Sandor Clegane was due to more than just his apparently magica hands. She had the sudden urge to tell him all and ask him to help her where the fool had not, but she knew it was folly. It was too late now, Dontos had offered his help, and she had accepted.

 

“Flea Bottom burned. Did they tell you that?” He broke the silence abruptly. “It was a beautiful thing, little bird. The flames dancing up, blazing in the streets. The houses, the stalls, the people too, all _burning._ It took so fucking long to put it all out. Had half a mind to just grab a wineskin and watch. Fire, little bird…,” he turned to look at her, a strange, almost manic look in his eyes, “Fire is repentless, pitiless...it ravages all it touches. It has no rhyme or reason, no mercy or malice. Fire is a raw, relentless _hunger_ , and left unchecked, it will destroy everything around it, including itself.”

 

She feared him again. He seemed a man possessed, and she heard the wonder in his voice as he talked about the flames. “Why are you saying such awful things? You, more than anyone, know the pain of-” she stopped herself from inviting his rage. It was too late.

 

His eye’s clouded with anger as he leaned closer. “I know _exactly_ what fire does, girl. I know _exactly_ how much pain it brings. You think mayhaps I forgot? It is _you_ that forgets, girl. You forget who I am, what I do. I’m the _Hound!_ ” He had crawled closer still, his face hovering in front of hers, twisted into a hellish scowl. “They all see my face and fucking wet themselves. I am as close to fire as man can get, girl. The fire may have burned me, but it did _not_ make me weak. No, little bird, it marked me. For my strength, for my _fucking courage_ , it marked me as someone that everyone, be it my fucking brother or the Kingslayer or fucking Lord Tywin himself, knows to fear!” He loomed over her as she leaned back, away from him.

 

When she fell off the root, he was quick to grab her, stopping her from hitting the ground. He pulled her closer still. “But don’t you worry, little bird. You need not fear me or the flames. You and your little pet, you’ll be safe, locked away in your gilded cage. It’ll be me that keeps the rest of them away from you. Remember the mob, little bird? Remember who came to save you? Not your pretty knights or your golden king, no. It was the bloody Dog. Don’t forget that, girl. Don’t forget who always comes to save your pretty feathers from being plucked.”

 

She was practically on his lap now, close enough to smell the faint hint of wine on his breath and see every crack and fissure on his marred face. She thought he was going to kiss her. He was so close. His hands wrapped themselves around her arms, while her own pressed against his tunic. She closed her eyes, waiting for him.

 

“Look at me, girl.” He shook her, not ungently. She opened her eyes as he settled her back onto the root and shifted his legs to kneel in front of her. “I meant it, little bird. You need not fear me. A dog will die for you, but he’ll never lie to you. And he’ll look you straight in the face.” He pulled out his handkerchief, and wiped away tears she had not realised had fallen. “Mayhaps when Stannis comes, you’ll be free of this place, little bird.” She was surprised at his soft tone, and had not expected such sincerity from him. As he left, she asked herself how any man could be so cruel in one moment and tender in the next.

______________________

 

“The little bird thinks she has wings, does she? Or do you mean to end up crippled like that brother of yours?”

 

She twisted to face him. “I wasn’t going to fall. It was only...you startled me, that’s all.”

 

He chuckled, releasing her. “Still afraid of the shadows, little bird?”

 

She narrowed her eyes at him. He was in good spirits, but she was in no mood to listen to his derision. “Does it give you joy to scare people?” _To scare me?_

 

He seemed to notice her lack of humour. “Sometimes, yes. Other times, it’s annoying. Can’t even buy wine without some fool pissing themselves as I walk past.” He eyed her strangely. “Is anything amiss, girl?”

 

She clasped her hands tighter in front of her. “Nothing is wrong.” She turned her eyes to gaze at the bay. “Do you think Stannis will win?”

 

“Mayhaps. Who knows? If he wins, little bird, you’ll be his pet instead of Joffrey’s.” She felt his eyes on her. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

 

“Joffrey is my one true lo-”

 

He cut her off with a growl. “Spare me that shite, girl. I grow sick of it.” He leaned against the parapet. “Mayhaps I will die too, little bird. Would you like that?”

 

“No, I would not.” She laid a hand on his massive shoulder, silently bidding him to look at her. When he did, she continued, “I would grieve for you, Sandor Clegane. If you believe nothing else I say, believe that.”

 

He turned away again. “That makes one person in this thrice-damned city, little bird. Even I wouldn’t care much if I was to die. But you’re not like the rest of us, are you? No, you may be the one innocent left alive in this city above the age of five.” He turned towards the stairway. “Come, little bird, let’s take you back to your cage, lest you fall and break that pretty neck of yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be them meeting on the day of the Battle itself. 
> 
> Also, if anyone has any ideas on how Arya's story would change with Nymeria alongside her, please let me know in the comments.  
> PS: 100 points to whoever notices the little song reference I put in this chapter. It's the title of a song.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackwater time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, yeah. Hope it's making sense so far.

Sansa awoke to the distant ringing of bells and the shouts of men in the streets. She threw off her sheets and moved to the window. The emerald hell-scape had vanished, and the faint warmth of dawn rose in the east. The men below were cheering.

 

She heard a rapid knock at her door, and shuffling behind it. “My Lady Sansa, it's me!” It was Ser Dontos. “Let me in, my lady, please. We are saved! The city is saved! Wake up, my lady, wake up!” His words were as happy as they were slurred. As Sansa went to open her door, she heard his muted yelp, followed by a heavy thud on her door.

 

“Little bird? Open up.” The Hound’s voice lacked in both merriment and drunkenness.

 

She unbolted her door to the sight of Sandor Clegane in full plate, his armour stained with blood and soot, Ser Dontos crumpled at his feet. He dragged the unconscious fool inside, and bolted the door again. “What was he doing at your door, little bird?” He stepped closer. He reeked of fresh gore and acrid smoke. “Don’t tell me Dontos is who you’ve invited into your bed?”

 

“N-no, it isn’t like that. He is only...my friend, nothing more.” The Hound’s eyes glowered with a near rabid frenzy. “I swear, it...he is not my l-lover.”

 

He grabbed her, his grip a vice on her arm. “You think me fool enough to believe that, girl? What was he doing here? Tell me!” He snarled at her. She winced as his grip tightened. “Tell me, girl, or I swear to you I will flay him in front of you and burn him alive.” His manic eyes told her how much he wanted to do just that.

 

“I...I’m sorry.” She looked up at him. “He...he offered to take me away. He said he would save me. I’m sorry, please. Joffrey...the Queen...I couldn’t just...please...” She ducked her head so he would not see the tears welling in her eyes. She did not know what she hoped he would do, but she knew that it was over now. She knew Ser Dontos would not be allowed to live. She knew that they would punish her for this, mayhap put her in the black cells as they did her lord father. She prayed that Sandor Clegane would do what he could for Lady.

 

The Hound shoved her backwards roughly, onto her bed. “Fool girl!” He was livid, his eyes burning as bright as the bay had. “You think this drunken sot could do anything for you? You think he could _save_ you?” He kicked Dontos viciously, the drunken fool groaning in response. “This is your great knight, is it, little bird? This drunken bugger, he’s your fucking savior?” His cheek was twitching madly, and he looked ready to butcher her along with Dontos.

 

“Please...what would you have had me do? Refuse my one chance to escape this nightmare?” She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back, leaning his weight atop her.

 

“You want to leave, girl?” His face was caked in blood, and the smell of flames and death clung to him. But it was his eyes that truly frightened her. They were rimmed red, shining with a wild, crazed glimmer as if he were a man possessed. She worried that the battle had unhinged him. _All that fire..._ “Answer me.”

 

“Yes...I wish to go home. Is that truly so wrong?” she whispered.

 

He leaned closer still. “Then come with me.” His voice had lost its murderous edge, though his eyes had not. “This drunken fool is of no help to anyone, little bird, let alone you, and I’d wager he’s the Spider’s pet, too. But I’ll keep you safe, little bird. No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them.” His reared up suddenly, ripping off his gauntlets, before he came back down and fisted her hair. “I’d take you home, little bird. All I ask for, is a song. Florian and Jonquil, you like that one, don’t you?” His rasp was softer than she had ever heard it, nothing more than a brittle whisper in her ears. “Say yes, little bird? A song for this damned old dog, that’s all I want.”

 

Her throat was dry, and every song she had once loved had fled from her mind. Instead of songs, she remembered their conversations in the godswood, how Lady seemed to love him. She remembered his little kindnesses, and his promises of honesty and loyalty. _He will not hurt me._ “Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war we pray, stay the swords and stay the arrows, let them know a better day. Gentle Mother, strength of women, help our daughters through this fray, soothe the wrath and tame the fury, teach us all a kinder way.”

 

Her voice sounded thin and frail to her ears, but she hoped it was enough for him. She had forgotten the other verses. Her hand had snaked up to his ruined face, and she felt the dampness of blood and sweat and something else beneath her fingers. His eyes held her own, the terrifying madness or anger that had filled them moments ago replaced with a gentle wetness. “Little bird,” he whispered.

 

He abruptly stood up, wheeling around to look down at Dontos, who was slowly writhing about on the ground, regaining his consciousness. He turned to look at her again, and stared into her eyes for a while, seemingly thinking on what to do. “Wear your hardiest clothes, little bird,” he finally said, “I’ll deal with the fool. Wait for me here, I won’t be long. Do not let anyone else in. Is that clear?”

 

She nodded, and he lifted the fool up bodily, Ser Dontos moaning incoherently, and left her chambers. She bolted the door behind him, and did her best to find a suitable dress.

______________________

 

Leaving the Red Keep had been easier than she had suspected, though she knew that it was because the battle had taxed the men and loosened security. They cantered north-west, away from the stretching rays of dawn, her riding in front of him atop Stranger, with Lady loping through the woods on her left. She clutched the cloak the Hound had given her tighter around herself, a dark green thing with a deep hood to cover her hair. It was overlarge and tattered in places, but she knew she would be grateful for it in the cold of the nights to come.

 

She leaned back against the Hound’s massive chest, it would be far too tiresome to remain stiff backed for the whole journey back home. _And besides, his chest is rather comfortable._ He had removed his plate, though he still wore a mail shirt and his hound-shaped helm, while a longsword was swung from his belt.

 

Come noon, Clegane deemed that they had traveled far enough to stop for a while, and had helped Sansa dismount before attending to Stranger. While the Horse grazed nearby and Lady lay down peacefully in the grass, he fished some food out of his saddlebag: some salted pork, a few apples and a hunk of hard black bread.

 

“Best enjoy those apples, little bird, that’s all you’re like to get for a long while.” He took a swig from his wineskin before offering it to her. “It’s not strongwine. I watered it down. A lot.”

 

“Thank you.” She was grateful for him. She had often wished that it would be him that rescued her, or at least for Dontos to have some of his ferocity, and now here she was, running away with him. _But why would he do this?_ The question had been niggling around in her head for a few hours now. “What did you do to Ser Dontos?” She decided to start there.

 

“I killed him.” He ate freely, not bothered to pause at this turn of the conversation. “I was wrong about him. He wasn’t the Spider’s pet, little bird. He was Littlefinger’s.” He looked at her. “You know why he had to die, don’t you?”

She nodded slowly. She knew he would have told Littlefinger about her escape with Clegane, and she knew Littlefinger would tell the King. She hadn’t thought Dontos would be working for someone else. She had just believed in him. _I truly am as stupid as Arya always said._ She felt a short pang of sorrow for her lost little sister, but she knew there was nothing to be done about that now. “How did you find out? About Littlefinger and Dontos?” She wondered if she would like the answer.

 

“People tend to talk when they are close to death, little bird. That buggering fool had no reason to keep his mouth shut anyway. He cried that it wasn’t his fault, how he was only following orders. Begged for his sorry life. I’d fucking kill him again in a heartbeat, the craven little cunt.” He had finished his meagre lunch already, and looked at her’s, barely touched. “Eat quick, little bird, or eat in the saddle, we’ll be leaving again soon enough, and we won’t stop till sundown, so we’d better take a piss while we can.”

 

She redoubled her efforts to eat the tough food, but she was not used to this sort of fare, and it embarrassed her to struggle so much with a task as simple as eating. “Why are you doing this? She asked between mouthfuls of pork and bread. “Tell me the truth, please.” _Dontos had Littlefinger as his master, but the Hound’s had_ _always_ _been the Lannisters, and they could not possibly want her to return to her family._

 

“You’re getting home, little bird, don’t question it like a bloody fool.”

 

“Please, I wish to know. You were Kingsguard. You abandoned the king, your duty, the Lannisters.” She wondered if her chirping was annoying him, but she had to know, “Why?”

 

He glared at her, but it had none of the heat that usually accompanied it. “I don’t owe you answers, girl. Get that through your thick skull.”

 

Sansa ate in silence after that, keeping her eyes on her food and trying to finish as quickly as possible. The Hound had gone to make water, and she had not responded when he told her so. It felt petty and childish to give him silence for nothing more than some harsh words, especially when he was saving her, but she couldn’t bring herself to endure it just now. She would apologise later, she promised herself. _But for now, I welcome some quiet._

 

She heard the heavy footfalls behind her, and turned to meet his eyes. She was almost done with her apple, and then she would have to make water too. _In the woods,_ she shuddered. Clegane met her eyes, and knelt to stroke Lady, who wagged her tail lazily.

 

“I...” He faltered and looked away. “I had enough of being a dog. Joffrey was always a cruel boy, but since becoming king, no one could stop him from killing and beating whoever the fuck he wanted.” He looked at her pointedly. “Fuck the King, and the Kingsguard. I wanted a...a new master. One who would bloody thank me for keeping them alive. One who would...call me by name. One who is...kind.”

 

He stood up, as did she. Lady, mayhaps not wanting to be left out, got to her paws and moved to Sansa’s side, nuzzling and licking her hand with her muzzle. Sansa giggled at the sensation. Sandor Clegane grinned.

 

“Thank you,” she beamed at him. “But I do not want to be your master. I would much rather be your friend...Sandor.”

 

He seemed surprised. “Aye, little bird. Mayhaps I could use one of those.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly fucking hate Dontos.
> 
> Also, I hope you guys are getting these updates, I can't see it on the Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark page on my phone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor POV. Lemme know yer thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. Got distracted by exams and a desire to rank up in a MOBA, until I got fucked by my fuckwit jungler and the most annoying fucking lag spikes of this month. I hate my teammates. Shitheads, all of 'em.
> 
> I have no real idea on the flora and fauna of Westeros, nor do I know about what a journey through the wilderness would be like, so forgive the liberties I take with those.

The girl was faring better than he had hoped she would. She knew next to nothing about the world outside of the castle walls, but she was learning. She had learnt to light a fire quick enough, though it was clear how unused she was to the motions of it. She was better at trapping small game, though she still squirmed insufferably when it was time to skin the bloody things. She listened intently when he told her which plants were edible and which plants made you shit yourself half to death. She was bloody awful at cooking. Still, she was learning.

 

The girl didn’t remember everything he told her, but she was careful that she remembered correctly. She’d look at him like a soft little doe and beg his fucking pardons, before asking him if these berries were poisonous, or if he could check her snares again. He was glad for it, truly. The little bird always smiled so prettily and thanked him when he told her it was fine. She thanked him when he told her she was wrong, too. Even living in the woods like a wildling wench had not robbed the Lady Stark of her courtesies. It was a wonder that she didn’t thank the horse every day too.

 

The girl shifted her seat in front of him. “Sandor?” She paused, waiting for his grunt of acknowledgement. “When we get to Riverrun, what should I tell my mother about Lord Baelish?”

 

“The truth, little bird; Baelish is a fucking snake. He put a dagger to your father’s throat in the throne room, did you know that? That rat’s more likely to keep you for himself than give you to his _beloved_ Catelyn.”

 

Sansa whirled around in the saddle to look at him. “What do you mean?”

 

He looked down at her. “The man brags about how he took both Tully sisters’ maidenheads, and from what I’ve heard, he tried to duel your dead uncle Brandon for your mother’s hand.” He felt his lips pull back into snarl. “I’ve never known Littlefinger to care for much other than himself, so if he wanted you out of the Red Keep, it’s either to get into your mother’s bed, or yours. Or mayhaps both.”

 

She held his gaze for a moment before turning around and resettling herself into his _fucking lap, gods be damned._ “He said he was one of my mother’s oldest friends. I wonder if she will believe us when we tell her of this.”

 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, little bird. We’re barely a sennight out of King’s Landing.” He was more worried about actually getting to Riverrun than what her bloody mother would think.

 

She was silent for a time. “Do you know what happened to Jeyne? She was my friend, the steward’s daughter. Lord Baelish said that he would find a place for her.” She kept her gaze fixed between Stranger’s ears, and he could almost feel the steel creep into her spine.

 

“No, little bird, all I know is that they gave her to Baelish, and knowing him, she’s probably a whore somewhere. Mayhap if you had asked me earlier, I could have asked around.” He doubted that he’d have found anything, but he knew he’d have looked if she had asked it of him.

 

“How was I to know you wished to help me? You were sworn to the Lannisters.” She wasn’t angry with him. He heard nothing but regret in her tone.

 

“I took no oaths, little bird. In any case, there’s no use worrying about it. Nothing we can do for her now.” He hoped she wouldn’t dwell on it for too long, and for her sake, he hoped that her friend was alive.

 

______________________

 

As pleasant as the days were, the nights were oft too cold for the little bird to sleep without freezing to death, and Sandor was loathe to leave a fire burning as they slept, telling every farm boy and his mother exactly where they slept. Lady usually snuggled by her mistress’ side, girl and wolf nestled together in a soft ball of fur and hair. The direwolf was beginning to dwarf the girl, though the girl herself was growing taller. Prettier, too. Their conversation on the serpentine steps seemed so fucking long ago. _Near a year now, wasn’t it?_ And her bloody teats hadn’t stopped growing since. It irked him to notice these things about her. She was a still a girl, sweet and naive, and the most pleasant charge he’d had so far. He had no plans to touch her, and he’d gladly gut any fucker that would, but she was fucking beautiful, there was no denying that.

 

“Sandor.” _Fuck, did I say that out loud?_ “Lady is going hunting.” Sure enough, the direwolf was nowhere to be seen. Sansa was standing before him, wrapped in his old cloak, her eyes downcast. “It’s just that...I’m cold. Would you mayhaps let me sleep next to you? Please?” The girl was blushing madly.

 

_Fuck._ He nodded. He couldn’t say no to her, not in this.

 

She lay down next to him, still blushing, and wriggled herself into his side. _In for a penny, in for a stag._ He flung an arm around her, drawing her closer to him. She gave a small squeak, but offered no protest. Instead, she seemed to revel in the warmth of his chest, snuggling closer still. She looked up at him, her cheeks still flushed, and her eyes glowing dimly in the moonlight.

 

“Thank you, Sandor.” Her smile was soft and sleepy, her cheek pressed against his chest. It made him feel warmer still.

 

When he awoke, it was with a thunderous ache in his cock. The little bird had wrapped herself around his side in the night, and her slender calf was pressing onto his raging erection. He wondered how the fuck he’d get out of this one, and had just devised a plan to roll away from underneath her when her eyes fluttered open and stared right up into him.

 

For a tense few seconds she did nothing but blink. “Good morning, Sandor.” Her voice was still drowsy from sleep, and _by the Seven, why is it getting harder?_ Sansa was seemingly content to lay there, kittened up against him, her fucking leg teasing his cock.

 

Then she blushed, and he knew she had felt the blasted thing. She was as still as stone, save for her pretty blue eyes widening.

 

“A man has needs, girl, and if you don’t plan of taking care of them, I suggest you get off me.”

 

She took a moment to snap out of it, before hurriedly standing up, apologizing for the _discomfort_ and moving away from him.

 

What truly vexed him however, was when she returned to his side every night since, muttering some nonsense about Lady wanting to hunt more. True, the wolf seemed to do just that, but it gave him the strangest looks when it saw him and Sansa together.

______________________

 

“And you swear you won’t look?”

 

“I’ll take no vows, little bird.” He handed her the soap and gently pushed her towards the river.

 

They’d encountered several Lannister soldiers camped by the Gold Road that morning. The little bird was surprisingly open to the idea of killing them as they slept; she told him that while it upset her, she understood that they were her enemy. He showed her where the heart is, and there was ice in her eyes as she took her first life. He let one man stay alive long enough to talk, and with a monster of a direwolf growling at him, the bald fucker didn’t even try to keep his mouth shut. They thought she had run up the Kingsroad with her wolf, that he had drowned in the bay.

 

They dragged the bodies into the woods and loosed the horses into the wild. They scavenged the soap off the dead men’s packs, along with coin and some food, as well as a cowl that could cover his burns, and since they were so close to the Blackwater Rush, it would probably be a good opportunity to bathe, especially considering the blood on their hands.

 

He wouldn’t look. The girl deserved better than to be peeped at while she bathed. He had finished attending to Stranger, and had only just settled himself by a tree when he heard her call out.

 

“Sandor,” she sounded nervous. He turned to see her hiding beneath the water, only her face peeking out of the surface. She looked strangely ethereal, with her auburn hair fanning out around her like a streak of fire in the calm meander of the Rush.

 

“Would you get my spare dress? It’s in one of the packs.” Her face matched her hair.

 

He found it, bundled around a little doll, and paused to figure out how he would give it to her. Thankfully, Lady seemed to understand the predicament well, and the direwolf was large enough for him to fold the dress onto her back without it reaching the bank. Not for the first time, he questioned the curious nature of the wolf, and how the bloody thing managed to keep itself so fucking clean despite running around the woods all day and night.

 

“Thank you, Sandor,” he heard from behind him. He heard the sound of her leaving the water, too, and _that_ image made his breeches uncomfortably tight. Her needing help with the lacing on her dress didn’t help matters.

 

When it was his turn to bathe, the girl got an eyeful of his chest before she had the sense to turn away. She seemed to fall asleep, leaning on a large rock by the bank as he scrubbed the grime away. _Mayhaps the killing this morning is troubling her._ Lady, on the other hand, didn’t seem to share her mistress’ sense of propriety, and the bloody wolf eyed him intently. He stared back, refusing to be shamed by a bloody animal. At least Stranger was acting normally.

 

Once he was dressed and dry, he made to wake the little bird, but she had awoken on her own, and was refusing to meet his eye.

 

“What’s wrong, girl? Never seen a man bare-chested before?” She chuckled weakly and didn’t rise to the bait, so they rode on in silence.

______________________

 

Sansa’s moonblood came nigh a month after they had left King’s Landing. They were almost at the Stoney Sept, and while she bore it with all the grace and dignity of a queen, he knew that it plagued her. He’d lived around Cersei long enough to know how bloody impossible a woman could become during this time, but she simply fell back on her courtesies, and while she slipped up a few times and called him a ser, he was nothing but grateful for how well she handled it. _Must be pretty fucking uncomfortable, to bleed every moon’s turn._ He wondered if she had ever considered how he felt when his errant cock swelled fit to burst, and the thought earned him a chuckle, which in turn earned him an odd look from the girl.

He’d decided to stay a night at the next inn on their way, if nothing more than to give Sansa some respite from the road. They found one called The Plum-house in Stoney Sept, and Sansa was both delighted and terrified to sleep indoors.

 

“You are certain that they won’t find us, Sandor?” she whispered to him while he stabled the horse. They had left Lady outside the walls of the town; a bloody direwolf would be sure to catch even a blind man’s eye.

 

“Keep that hood up, don’t say a word to anyone, don’t say any names that’d give us away, and we’ll be fine.” She didn’t seem convinced, and worry marked those cerulean eyes. “It’ll be fine, Sansa. It’s just for a night.” He rasped as gently as he could.

 

She smiled up at him, and _Gods,_ that smile would kill him some day. “I trust you. You’ll keep us safe.” She dropped her gaze. “I’m just worried, that’s all.”

 

A bath and some hot food later, the two of them lay on the bed together. It would be too strange for a man and woman travelling together to _not_ sleep together _._ She had her own pillow, but for some fucking reason she opted to sleep on his chest. At this point, he was almost certain she knew what she was doing to him, and wondered if she thought it funny to tease a dog so.

 

“D’you think Lady misses us, little bird?” He wanted her to chirp at him. Just a bit, before they slept.

 

“Oh, I’m certain she’ll be fine.” The little bird seemed rather sure of it. She propped herself up her elbows. _Fucking hell, those godsdamned teats._ “I have something to tell you. A...a secret, if you will.”

 

That got his attention. She told him how she could see through Lady’s eyes, and had dreams of _being_ the wolf. How she could command Lady with her thoughts, and she could taste, smell, feel the world as her direwolf did. Sandor was less surprised that he thought he would have been, but he still had questions.

 

“How long has this been going on?” When she replied that it had started in the Red Keep, another question popped into his mind. “Did you ever skinchange into her while I petted her?”

 

She blushed. “Y-yes.”

 

“Does that mean I’ve had my hands all over the little bird, hmm?” He pulled her up to lay squarely on his chest, her splayed out above his own. “And did you like it?” She nodded as her blush deepened.

 

He growled out a laugh, but gods, was he hard. “Does that also mean it was _you_ that was spying on me as I bathed?”

 

She didn’t answer, but he knew her well enough now. “Why?”

 

“I...I don’t know. Please, don’t be upset.” The girl was as red as Dornish sour, and her eyes shone like pools of bright, blue starlight.

 

He chuckled again. “Did you like what you see, little bird?” He could feel her shiver under his touch. “Mayhaps you want the Hound to pet your real skin?” The girl was silent, but her eyes were as hungry as his own, and she was writhing against him like a bitch in heat.

 

_This will not do._ He wasn’t about to let his lust take control of him, not now. The girl was young and curious, and she was of an age where she didn’t know any better. She couldn’t give herself over to the last scion of a minor house, that was far beneath her lot in life, and it was up to him to

 

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and gently slid her down onto the bed. She made a small keening sound, and he could have sworn his cock actually wept.

 

“Mayhaps it wouldn’t be the best idea, eh, girl? You’re the Princess of the North, and I’m a lowly Hound.” She dropped her gaze, but he felt her fingers clutch tighter to his tunic. “We need to get you home, to your family, and you can be damned sure they’d have my head if they learnt that I was _petting_ their beloved princess.”

 

She nodded, but still didn’t meet his gaze, and still didn’t let go of him.

 

Another thought struck him. “Does Lady actually like my pets? Or is it just you?”

 

She laughed at that, a rich, alluring thing. “Oh, she loves it, truly.” And she smiled at him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know how you feel about this, and yes, this is a teaser, but dw, no angst for long.
> 
> Also, the inn isn't real, but there's a brothel in Stoney Sept called Peach, sooo, I made it up. Peach, plum, made sense to me.  
> Another thing, I modified the tags a wee bit, doesn't change shite about the story tho.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has come to my attention that I use an odd mix of British and American English, since while I am used to the British way, the books are American. Please let me know if this bothers you, and which one you'd prefer, if you'd like me to stick to one.
> 
> Also, for reference, this is the map I used: https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/e/e7/Map_of_westeros.jpg

The little sister was alive, and nearby too. Sansa had jostled him awake at dawn and declared it so.

 

“I saw _Nymeria_ , Sandor, I swear it. Arya must be close, I know it.” There was a desperate hope in her eyes, a fragile belief that she could see her sister again. He knew what that was like, and he was loathe to snatch it from her. “Please, could we search for her? Only for a little while...please, she’s my sister.”

 

“We’ll look, little bird. Lady can lead the way,” he gave the beast a pointed look, “can’t she?”

 

The direwolf didn’t respond, but the little bird fucking _flew_ at him, seizing him in a hug as he caught her, whispering her gratitude into his hair. She had tears in her eyes when she finally pulled away, and it was strange to see her cry for joy.

 

“I thought you hated her.”

 

Her eyes widened in shock. “No! I never hated her. Not truly.” She seemed almost guilty as she looked to grass. “We...we didn’t get along very well, and we were horrible to each other at times, but I never hated her. We...she was just a child, and I should have known better. Mayhaps now, after all that’s happened to our family, we can be closer. And if not, then at the very least, I would apologize. For everything.”

 

“You almost sound like you burnt half her face off.” Her smack on his arm did nothing to stop him from laughing at her horrified indignation.

____________________

 

“I know you,” the Hound rasped.

 

“You did. In melees, you’d laugh at my flaming sword.”

 

“Thoros of Myr. You used to shave your head.”

 

They had ended up finding Arya Stark, along with a pack of outlaws and a fucking Red Priest, who was prattling along about his lost razor and belly.

 

“Only the blind ones, priest.” The outlaws laughed, but he didn’t miss the hands on their steel. They had no mounts, and he could outrun them, but for Sansa, who had gotten down to embrace her sister.

 

The talk turned sour fast, the bloody swineherds began calling for his head, as if their swords were any cleaner. He had half a mind to run away and come back to burn the fuckers in their sleep, but he was loathe to leave Sansa alone, even if the wolves could protect her. A voice called out from within the hill, speaking of knights and purpose and the dead King Robert. _Beric fucking Dondarrion._ The man looked half dead, his neck sporting a ruinous scar, and his left ear had been sliced off raggedly, leaving a red ridge of scar and pus.

 

The crowd of bloody _knights_ began listing out names, crimes, places. A little girl raped there, a family murdered here, as if he had done any of it.

 

“Enough!” Sansa Stark’s voice had none of the trembling fear that had enveloped her in the king’s court: it sung strong and true, and she spoke like a bloody Queen. “Sandor Clegane has done none of these heinous acts. He saved me from King’s Landing, and he brought me thus far, unharmed. He has done no wrong to any of you. What sort of _knights_ are you, to mob a man for crimes he did not commit? To lay the deeds of the Lannister’s and their ilk at the feet of a man who has less love for them than you do? Sandor Clegane has saved my life, time and time again, he has saved me, and vowed to bring me home, to my family. While you seek to kill him for it, for reuniting two sisters. Sandor Clegane has more honor than any knight of your brotherhood if you think this is justice, and if you think I shall stand idly and watch him die, you are gravely mistaken, sers.”

 

He wished he could see her eyes, but they were leveled at the crowd in front of him. She stood between them, her sister by her side, their wolves flanking them. It felt strange to have the little bird and her sister stand between him and danger, though he felt oddly proud of her for that little speech in his name.

 

“And what of his brother?” It was Thoros that spoke. The crowd had quietened, and the priest didn’t have to shout to be heard. “He died during Greyjoy’s Rebellion. I was there, and I don’t believe that it was the Ironborn who killed him.”

 

“Are you accusing him of kinslaying?” Sansa Stark’s voice was colder than he had ever heard. _She knows the fucking truth of it. She’s gotten better at lying._

 

Thoros did not say another word. No one did.

 

He stepped off of Stranger’s back. “A trial by combat then. I’ll prove my innocence, to your gods, and the rest of you sorry lot.” His rasp echoed through the hill. “Which of you is man enough to face me then? Surely, your fucking Lord of Light will protect you.” He smiled, his scars stretched cruelly. It was Beric Dondarrion himself who answered his challenge. Not that it would have mattered. They were all meat, and he was the butcher.

 

The little bird turned to him with a strange sort of plea in her eyes, while her sister seemed more curious than anything. They removed their armour, Beric had a squire remove his plate and Sandor pulled off his mail shirt. Sword, shield, and a whispered prayer to survive from Sansa, and he was ready. The Lightning Lord, however, wanted to fucking pray.

 

After that farce, he charged.

____________________

 

He cut through the fucker’s fiery sword, straight into his fucking chest, and laughed. He bashed Dondarrion’s head with his flaming shield before ripping it off his arm. _Fuck, it’s burnt…_

 

He didn’t remember falling, but he found himself looking up at a bald man in leathers rushing him with a knife. He heard the little bird cry out, and she was at his side. Was that his blood on her hands? Why was she crying? What was she saying?

 

 _Sandor._ She was saying his name. She was crying for _him_. He wanted to laugh, but he ended up coughing on smoke. Where was she? Some men were helping him up, and the little bird was at his side again, speaking to him, helping him. He didn’t want her to leave him. He never wanted her to leave him.

____________________

 

He was a demon when he fought. She had seen it before, but it was different this time. This time, it was him that she feared for. He had won, of course. She knew he’d win, he was one of the best warriors in the Seven Kingdoms, but she worried for his life just the same. When Lord Dondarrion’s flaming sword had set Sandor’s shield alight, she had nearly cried out, and had clutched Arya’s hand harder than she thought possible.

 

After he’d won, her poor hound had collapsed to the floor, his shield arm a tattered mess of fresh burns. A stout, balding man in patched leathers was striding towards him, knife in hand. _The Huntsman._ Sansa screamed and lunged at the man, drawing the small knife she'd used to prepare their food. She felt him go down, blood squirting from the back of his neck, and she rushed to Sandor’s side.

 

He seemed so helpless, clutching his injured arm and whimpering almost inaudibly. She told him how brave he was, how he would be alright, how she needed him; she promised him songs and kindness. When Lord Beric stood up on shaky legs, she was stunned into silence for a while, and she moved away from Sandor so that a couple of men could help him up, and followed them outside of Hollow Hill.

 

She sat by him, as they treated the burns. She sat long after they left, stroking his hair and singing _Jenny of Oldstones_. His breathing was strong, and she saw his fingers clench in his shield arm. He would be fine, but she needed him to wakeup so that she knew for sure.

 

Arya came to see her, along with Nymeria and Lady, who had stayed all at the hall where the trial took place. She spoke of her adventures with the Nightswatch and in Harrenhal, with her friends who were all gone, except for the blacksmith, Gendry. Sansa, in turn, told her sister of Joffrey’s cruelty, of Littlefinger’s schemes, and how Sandor Clegane had saved her.

 

“Are you in love with him? Like you were with Joffrey?” Arya’s gaze was as sharp as her words.

 

“He is _nothing_ like Joffrey.” She looked down at him, his head resting on her lap. _He is so peaceful when he sleeps._ “And what of this Gendry? Is he simply a friend?” She raised an eyebrow at her sister, who promptly changed the subject and told her what she learnt of how Lord Beric came alive again, and how he’d died twice already. She wondered if it was truly some cruel god who kept Lord Beric alive, or if it was simply some ancient magic.

 

Arya also told her that she was welcome to stay, and that the Brotherhood bore her no ill will for defending Sandor from the Mad Huntsman’s ire. Sansa knew that they would not stay. Neither she nor Sandor would be comfortable living amongst the band of self-proclaimed knights that tried to kill him. She told Arya so, and implored her to come with them, but Arya only promised to think on it before walking back into the Hill.

____________________

 

When dawn broke, she was alone save for Lady, Stranger and Sandor, the outlaws still sleeping inside the Hill, with their sentries nowhere in sight. Her rest had been fitful, worried for him as she was. It was also the first time she had slept without his comforting bulk beside her.

 

She perched herself by his right side, a waterskin in hand, and gently prodded him awake.

 

“Little bird?” His voice was drowsy, and was raspier than usual as he blinked up at her. It sent a shiver down her spine.

 

“Drink, Sandor.” She pressed the waterskin to his mouth, and he obliged, taking it from her.

 

“Fucking water.” He took another sip. “Is there no wine?” She noticed him carefully moving his fingers on his left hand, checking whether they still worked.

 

She smiled at him. She felt lighter somehow, with the knowledge that he would be fine. _More scars for my poor hound._ When had she started calling him her Hound? She didn’t know.

“Sansa,” his voice was soft, yet laden with a strange weight. “Thank you.” He seemed to be struggling for words. She didn’t need any, his eyes spoke to her own.

 

She leaned down and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not a clue what to do with Arya tbh. Should she go with them? Or should she stay with the Brotherhood? PERHAPS I CAN KILL HER OFF, SO SHE ISN'T AS FUCKING INVINCIBLE AS SHE WAS IN LATER SEASONS? 
> 
> Just kidding. Sorta. 
> 
> Also, as a side note, I take back what I said about the jungler in my previous notes, he/she sent me a gift. Bless them.
> 
> Also, I hope no one was too attached to the Huntsman. I actually kinda like him, but I thought it was necessary, and he's the only character that could plausibly try this kinda shit.


End file.
